“So we’ll get even more?”
He removes his hat and hangs it on a peg beside the door. “Why so interested?”
“You said to familiarize myself with the workings of the mine. I’m familiarizing.”
“When you were in there this morning, what did you feel?”
I know what he wants me to say. “Gold. Lots of it. The Drink is going to yield better. We might think about starting a branching tunnel down there.” Nothing about that was a lie. But I might not give him the exact best direction on where to dig.
His smile is soft, and I daresay a little bit proud. “Good to know.”
He fixes himself a plate from the leftovers on the woodstove, then indicates with his chin that I should move. “My chair,” he says. “Up and out.”
“Yes, sir.” I move quickly to comply.
I’ll have to search the rest of the cabin later, next time he leaves. But he doesn’t leave. He sits down at his writing desk and spends the next several hours attending to correspondence. I grab Godey’s Lady’s Book from my nightstand and pretend to be absorbed by a story about a plain, unmarried woman with a heart of gold who organizes the ladies in her church to help the poor orphans of Boston.
Mary comes to make a supper of chicken and dumplings. Afterward, Hiram reads by lantern light, while I help Mary clean up. Finally he addresses me.
“Good night, sweet pea,” he says. “Sleep well. See you in the morning.” A dismissal, since he’s making no move to leave the table himself.
“Good night,” I mutter, and I retire to my bedroom.
I lie on the bed, trying to mark time. It’s anxious work. I’ve no pocket watch, so I’ll have to take my best guess about this midnight business. I try to use the moonlight as a guide, but watching it change—or not change fast enough—makes me worry even more.
What if Hiram stays up all night? What if Wilhelm is still out there, keeping watch? What if I misjudge the time?
When the moonlight through the tiny window has moved halfway across the floor, I gamble that the time is about right, and I rise from the bed. I consider leaving my boots off; it’s easier to step silently in stockings. But if anyone saw my filthy, torn stockings, it would be a dead giveaway, so I pull on my boots and lace them up.
I grab the slop bucket from the corner of my room. If I’m caught, I’ll just say the smell was bothering me and I’m taking it to the outhouse. It’s a weak excuse, but it’s the best I can come up with. At the last second, I remember the biscuits stashed in my chest. I grab as many as I can carry in one hand, squishing them badly. My hands will appear strangely lumpy if someone looks too close.
The light from Hiram’s lantern winked out long ago, but I listen at the curtain for the sounds of his stirring—shifting his seat or rocking in his chair or even just breathing. Nothing.
Slowly I push the curtain aside. The main room seems empty.
There’s hardly enough light to see by as I creep toward the front door. I imagine bumping into something or knocking over a chair. I don’t dare light a lantern and flash my presence for all to see. The moonlight will have to suit.
I reach the door, and again I pause to listen, ear to the wood. Still nothing. This is it. If Wilhelm is outside, I’ve no chance at all of meeting Jefferson. If he isn’t, someone else could just as easily be nearby, watching. I wouldn’t put it past my uncle to make sure the cabin is watched at all times.
The door swings open with a slight squeak, and I freeze. Nothing moves outside. I slip out the door and shut it, wincing when the slop bucket hits the frame.
The camp is silent except for the wind in the grass and the rapid, trilling whistle of nighthawks in the nearby trees. The hard-packed ground is bluish in the moonlight, reminding me for a moment of the Georgia mountains, the way the trees and especially the fog seemed blue on moonlit nights.
Behind the stable, Jefferson said. All I have to do is creep past the barracks building where Frank Dilley and all the Missouri men are sleeping. You could set your pocket watch by Frank’s habit of assigning a guard. So maybe I ought to take the long way around and avoid the barracks altogether. But that would mean going behind the cabin and sneaking beneath Hiram’s bedroom window.
The barracks is ahead and slightly to the right. I stare at it a moment, weighing my options. A light winks on in one of the windows, making my decision for me.
I head in the opposite direction and skirt my uncle’s cabin, which puts me within view of the Chinese tents. No one seems to be stirring, but I keep to the cabin’s shadow as much as possible. The ground beneath my feet begins to crunch as I near the corner—detritus from the wall of cottonwoods in the back.
This would be the perfect time to figure out how far the stand of trees extends and if it leads to a creek or a dry wash as I suspect, but it’s just too dark. I round the corner and creep along the rear wall. The land slopes down toward the trees a little, and a blanket of fallen leaves makes my path slippery. I’m glad I chose to don the boots.
At Hiram’s window I duck down, still hugging the wall. I move forward in a half crouch, made all the more awkward by the slop bucket I’m carrying. If I bang it with my knee on accident, it will wake him for sure.
An owl calls out, soft and clear, and I’m caught for a moment in memory: hiding beneath fallen leaves on a cold night just like this while three brothers robbed me blind. I’ve come so far, but in some ways, I haven’t gone any distance. I’m still hiding from bad men. I’m still trying to figure how to make my own way, my own fortune.
I pass Hiram’s window and pause, listening, but I hear nothing. The cabin is sound, sounder than any other structure I’ve seen since coming to California, so it’s possible he’s staring out the window this very second, and I’d never know. No way to go but forward. I grit my teeth and move on.
It’s with no small amount of relief that I clear the cabin. Just a hundred feet of open space until I can hide in the stable’s shadow. I ponder the cottonwoods a moment. Maybe I should head down the slope and work my way parallel through the trees. But I can’t risk it in the dark. A twisted ankle would be the least of my worries; a snapped twig in the night can be as startling and loud as a gunshot.
I glance around. No Wilhelm that I can see, and the barracks doesn’t have a window facing this direction. I stride out into the open.